Portrait of the Heart
by WNC Caroline
Summary: Dr. Mike and Sully travel to New York to attend Mr. Watkins' gallery opening gala in this AU story inspired by the DQMW season one episode, "Portraits." While there, Sully must confront painful memories as he rushes to rescue Dr. Mike from murderous thieves. Will he be in time to save her and can he finally accept the depth of his feelings for his beautiful traveling companion?
1. Chapter 1

**Portrait of the Heart**

_**The characters of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman are owned by The Sullivan Company, A&E, and CBS. Hopefully, they don't mind if I borrow them for a short time. I promise they will be returned in good condition and will always be treated with love and respect while in my care!**_

**CHAPTER 1**

Daniel Watkins boarded the Denver-bound stagecoach on a sunny Thursday morning, and as the swaying carriage pulled from the front of Bray's Mercantile, many of the good citizens of Colorado Springs gathered to wave him a fond farewell. His days spent photographing the panoramic scenery of the Colorado Rockies for the railroad would be amongst the most satisfactory times of his life. Even more rewarding was his unique photograph of the whole town, as well as pictures of the Cheyenne dog solders and the individual portraits he had taken of Colorado Springs' residents.

Included in his portfolio was the likeness of the most exquisite woman he had ever seen…ever photographed. Dr. Michaela Quinn. Not only was she beautiful, she was intelligent, caring, and a dedicated physician. If he were only twenty-five years younger and in good health, he would have vied for her affections. Unfortunately, she was so focused on gaining the attention of a certain mountain man, Watkins feared he would sadly have been the loser. Byron Sully was an enigma. He came and went as he pleased. He lived in a lean-to in the woods. And most surprising, he was reluctant to make any type of commitment to Dr. Quinn or her children. Watkins had even called him out over his hesitance while they were on an expedition to photograph some of the Rocky Mountains' splendor. Sully, acting as his guide, appeared taken aback by his rebuke.

"It's just that if a lady like Dr. Quinn ever looked at me the way she looks at you, I would fall down on one knee and promise myself to her forever," Watkins had chided him.

Sully's arm was placed on the top of the Semmendinger camera.* He dropped his chin against the piano-wood carriage box and uttered, "We'd better get started down before it gets too dark."

Having voiced his profound statement, Watkins approached the camera and said, "Let's get this last shot," and missed the pensive look on his face as Sully turned away from the camera and from the photographer's astute observation.

Nevertheless, he knew the rugged mountain man's fondness for the beautiful doctor was more than he cared to admit…either to himself or to her.

As the stagecoach hastened away from the small Colorado town, the perceptive photographer, lost in thought, pondered the future of the beautiful young doctor and her reluctant suitor. Sometimes love needed a gentle nudge, and after all, he had a portrait of the heart…of Sully's heart. He had a portrait of Michaela Quinn.

He could use that…

* * *

Sully sat on the buffalo robe in his lean-to and reflected back on the last two weeks of Daniel Watkins' visit. Although he had enjoyed their treks into the verdant countryside to photograph the wondrous Colorado landscape, Watkins had a way of making him feel exposed, almost vulnerable. He felt like his thoughts were on display…like a picture that showed every detail of the subject's countenance. Plus, Watkins seemed to enjoy a harmless dalliance with Dr. Mike that rankled him even more than he cared to admit. _Why should I care if Watkins flirted with her? Didn't she realize they were startin' to build somethin' together? Maybe she preferred the company of an older man. What about the children? _The more Sully pondered these questions, the more he realized there were no easy answers. Besides, he just wasn't ready, and the differences between him and Dr. Mike seemed too hard to overcome.

* * *

It had been a busy afternoon at the clinic, and Dr. Mike had not had a moment to catch her breath. She had seen Mr. Watkins off that morning and then unlocked the clinic door to begin another day of caring for the local citizenry. Finally, her four o'clock patient, a woman who needed stitches for a cut, had departed so she could sit down and update her patient files.

Perhaps Sully would come by the clinic. She had not seen him since early morning when, after bidding Mr. Watkins farewell, he had ridden his Cheyenne pony out of town. Their conversation from the previous day was still puzzling and distressing. _He had said they were too different and he wasn't ready. Wasn't ready for what? In Boston, after such a kiss as they had exchanged on her birthday, the families would have expected an engagement announcement. What was he thinking? Did he think her too forward? Perhaps he was the type of man that liked to trifle with a lady's affections. No! That couldn't be the reason. For all his rough edges, he was a gentleman and had been nothing but considerate toward her and the children. So, what was the real reason for their conversation on the bridge yesterday? _The more she thought about what had been said, the more thankful she was she had not revealed her own feelings of affection. It would have been highly inappropriate, not to say embarrassing, had she done so.

The children, especially Brian, had been disappointed in Sully's refusal to be in the portrait with them. _He had said it was because he wasn't family. Family? He was the closest they had to a pa, and the children loved him dearly. Surely, he didn't feel that way. Perhaps the thought of taking on three orphans was more than he could bear? Did he think taking on someone like her was an even worse prospect? _Dr. Mike had lots of questions, few answers, and as her workday ended there was still no sign of him.

She gathered up her papers and filed them away before donning her lightweight shawl and blowing out the oil lamp on her desk. Finally, with the clinic left in an orderly fashion, she headed out to mount up on Bear for the lonely ride to the homestead. If only Sully would join them for dinner…

The table that evening was, unfortunately, set only for four…

* * *

The stagecoach had rumbled into Denver, and as Daniel Watkins oversaw the transfer of his brocade valise and leather portfolio to the St. Louis-bound stagecoach, he was already making plans. Those plans, well, they included a certain doctor and her mountain man…

After all, the couple had bestowed upon him two invaluable gifts: First, a way to temporarily slow his declining health and second, their assistance in repairing his camera which, saved him from having to wait on a replacement to arrive from the manufacturer all the way back East in Fort Lee, New Jersey. Because of those two, he had the opportunity to finish his geological survey for the railroad and photograph the natural beauty of the Wild West for his personal purposes. Otherwise, he would have returned to New York empty-handed, something Daniel Watkins was loath to do.

It might take him several months, but he had a plan…a plan that would show his appreciation for their many kindnesses and in the end, he hoped, unite their hearts as one…

* * *

_*More information about the actual Semmendinger camera used in "Portraits," including a film clip from DQMW, can be found by typing Semmendinger-Camera into your search window and clicking on the official home page._


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Colleen had gone to the telegraph office to post a letter to Boston for Dr. Mike and to drop off the envelope with Sully's rent money. Unbeknownst to Dr. Mike or the children, the carefully dated rent envelopes sat unopened in a telegraph office cubbyhole. Each month Horace would offer the envelopes to Sully, and each month the envelopes would lie unclaimed and be returned to the same spot.

However, today there was a new letter addressed to _Mr. Byron Sully, Colorado Springs, Colorado_, and it had come all the way from New York City, New York. Horace couldn't help but notice as he gave Colleen the mail that there was an identical letter addressed to_ Michaela Quinn, M.D., Colorado Springs, Colorado_. Both envelopes were of high-quality vellum, had the addresses written in a calligraphic script, and were affixed with a custom wax seal. Horace was curious as to the contents, but he had taken an oath and thus was prevented from prying.

Colleen bounced into the clinic examination room and called out, "Here, Dr. Mike, I brought you the mail. There's a fancy letter all the way from New York, an' it's addressed to you!"

"Thank you, Colleen. Let's see whom it's from." Dr. Mike glanced through the mail and set aside several medical journals and a small box of surgical needles from Chicago before locating the ivory-colored missive. "Here it is. It certainly is elegant."

As she carefully broke the wax seal and pulled the correspondence from the envelope, Colleen stood and watched with anticipation as her ma read the contents. Just as she finished reading the card, the door opened to the clinic, and Sully stepped inside. "Ya busy, Dr. Mike?"

Colleen answered as she raised her head from the card to smile in his direction. "Dr. Mike jus' got some fancy letter from New York City!"

"New York?"

Before he could say anything else, Dr. Mike exclaimed, "It's from Mr. Watkins. Remember the photographer who was here about five months ago? He's having a gallery showing of his Western series of photographs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art* and has sent us an invitation to attend the opening, as well as the gala celebration afterwards." She glanced back into the envelope. "Wait! There's also an enclosed note with it."

As she skimmed the handwritten note that accompanied the engraved invitation, she started smiling softly, and Sully could see the delight on her face. "Mr. Watkins has invited me to attend the gala as his special guest."

"You ain't plannin' on goin', are you, Dr. Mike? What about the clinic?" Neither she nor Colleen seemed to notice Sully's discomfiture with the sudden invitation or the hint of jealousy that pervaded his voice.

"Can we go, Dr. Mike? Please! Please! Can we go?" She was bouncing from one foot to another in excitement and anticipation. Dr. Mike carefully scanned the invitation before raising her eyes to the eager girl. "Unfortunately, Colleen, the gallery opening is set to take place during your and Brian's school exams. I'm uncomfortable with your missing that much school. After all, the travel time will add several weeks to the trip. Sadly, I'm afraid we must decline this gracious invitation. Besides, we all know Matthew would not want leave Ingrid to travel to New York."

With a visible look of relief on his face, Sully responded, "So ya ain't goin' then. Good!"

"Good? Whatever do you mean by that, Sully?" She was sorely perplexed by his outburst.

Colleen, who had a moment to overcome her disappointment in not being allowed to go, interrupted the conversation with the suggestion that her ma attend without them. "Dr. Mike, why don't you go? You could go to the opening and the gala with Mr. Watkins and then maybe spend some time visiting that new library you keep talkin' about wantin' ta visit. What's it called? Oh! I remember, The New York Academy of Medicine Library."

Sully crossed his buckskin-clad arms and looked at Dr. Mike. He said nothing, but inside he was seething that she might go to New York without him and especially as Watkins' guest.

"Perhaps I will go, Colleen. You are correct. I would love to visit the new library, and this would be an excellent opportunity. Grace might be willing stay at the homestead with you and Brian, and I can surely leave Myra and Jake enough medical supplies for an emergency. Sully, would you also check in on the children?"

"So you're goin' then?" His question was tinged with anger and disbelief. Then he abruptly muttered, "Well, I jus' stopped by to tell you Cloud Dancing an' I got a deer an' I stuck it and gutted it an' Snowbird butchered it. I wanted you to know I left ya'll a deer roast at the cabin."

The two were left speechless as he turned and walked out the door, slamming it decisively behind him.

* * *

Sully was noticeably absent from the homestead and the clinic as Dr. Mike prepared for her trip to New York. Her fare had been purchased for the following week, and her bags were already packed. She had sent a telegram to Mr. Watkins with her travel plans and had received a return reply advising of her hotel accommodations.

Unfortunately, she had left her finest ball gowns back in Boston so she would have to allow time upon arrival to purchase and alter suitable evening wear. She would wear her favorite lavender-and-blue traveling ensemble with the silk taffeta skirt and matching hat and reticule and had packed numerous day gowns, including her favorite in pale blue copied from a Worth fashion plate. At the last minute, she added her elegant brown-and-black dress riding habit, a recent gift from her sister Rebecca.

The children were helpful with the packing and doing their chores without argument or complaint. Grace had agreed to stay at the homestead, and Jake and Myra had all received packages with the necessary medical supplies. Everything was in order for her departure.

The only thing missing was Sully. Neither Dr. Mike nor the children had seen him since he had left the clinic almost a week ago. It was as if he had disappeared into the wilderness.

* * *

He had done his best to avoid her, as he was still angry that she was going to New York. Truth be told, he was more jealous than anything. Robert E. had mentioned she was planning to leave on the stagecoach the following morning so he slipped into town the day before her scheduled departure. He needed supplies, and he might catch a glimpse of her before she left. While walking across the square toward Loren's store, Horace waved and motioned him to come by the telegraph office.

"Sully! I haven't seen ya in over a week, and I wanted you ta know ya got some mail, as well as your rent money," he called in his nasal voice.

"You know what ta do with the rent money, Horace. I don't want it. What else is there?" Sully seemed puzzled, as he almost never received mail.

"It's the same envelope like Dr. Mike got. The one invitin' her to see Mr. Watkins' pictures in New York City."

He took the envelope and intently studied the front of it for a moment. "Thanks, Horace." The telegrapher would like to have seen the contents so was disappointed as Sully stuffed the letter into his buckskin jacket pocket and strolled out of the small office.

Later that same morning, Horace was asked to send another telegram to Mr. Watkins in New York, and he sold a ticket for the next stagecoach out of town. The purchaser was Mr. Byron Sully of Colorado Springs, Colorado. His destination was New York City, New York.

It was the same stagecoach that would carry Dr. Mike as well…

* * *

Matthew drove the children and their mother into town on the morning of her departure. After fond farewells, promises to send telegrams, and reminders to do their chores and homework, Brian and Colleen departed for school, and Matthew rode off to work cattle at Miss Olive's ranch.

She was left to board the stagecoach and begin her journey eastward. Sam, the stage driver, a chatty older fellow with muttonchops and several missing teeth, told her she and another gentleman were the only passengers departing for Denver. As she boarded the red-painted carriage, the other traveler was nowhere to be seen. _Perhaps he isn't coming?_ The trip would be much more pleasant, and she would not have to endure pipe or cigar smoke…a stagecoach-line rule that was often overlooked.

Just as Sam climbed up and settled on the right side of the coach, his partner Clancy jumped up on the left and laid his double barrel shotgun across his lap. As the carriage made a lurching motion and started rolling forward, the door to the interior cab abruptly swung open and a man leapt inside. Dr. Mike, who had been holding on to the leather support strap, yelped in surprise. The other passenger was none other than Sully!

It seemed he was going to New York as well…

* * *

_*The Metropolitan Museum of Art formally opened its doors in the Dodworth Building on April 13, 1870 and did not open to the public at the current site until March 30, 1880._


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

As he settled into the rear-facing seat opposite her, she looked over at him in shock and disbelief. He removed his belt with his knife and tomahawk and placed them on the floorboard at his feet, all while trying to gauge her reaction to his unexpected arrival.

"Sully? What are you doing here?" She choked out the question, as she was at a complete loss to understand his sudden appearance.

"I'm goin' to New York. What does it look like I'm doin'?" He grinned as he enjoyed her apparent discomfiture.

"But why?"

"Well, Mr. Watkins sent me an invitation to the art gallery and the party afterwards, an' I just decided I wanted to go. Somethin' wrong with me goin'?"

"No! I mean no, there's no problem." She was still pleasantly disconcerted at his arrival but secretly pleased to have him accompanying her on the long journey. "I must admit I am quite surprised you would even want to attend such an event, but I welcome your company and conversation as we travel."

"So you don't mind if I ride along with ya?"

She looked across the cramped interior of the coach and smiled. "No, Sully, I don't mind in the least." Just as she answered, the driver suddenly hit a pothole in the dusty roadway, and she was inelegantly thrown across the seat and landed in his lap. "You okay?" He gathered her in his arms and steadied her before returning her to the seat opposite his. Her hat, with its multicolored-silk bow, had come undone from her hair and now lay on the gritty floor. He retrieved the dusty hat and placed it on the seat next to her medical bag. As the coach continued to vigorously bounce along, he moved from his seat and sat next to her. He placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her petite frame against his larger one so as to prevent any further accidents. Before long, the rhythmic rocking of the carriage lulled her to sleep, and her head unknowingly nestled under his bearded chin. He tightened his hand around her shoulder, placed his other hand over her small fingers as they lay clasped in her lap, and silently kissed the top of her head. He could smell the soft scent of honeysuckle as he nestled his lips against her coppery mane of hair.

The stagecoach rolled on, and the intertwined pair was oblivious of the scenery as they napped in each other's arms, whispered softly, or simply cast self-conscious glances at each other. They continued to sit side by side for the entire five-day journey to St. Louis that included the stop in Denver.

Upon arriving at the St. Louis train station, Sully escorted Dr. Mike from the stagecoach station to the train platform and helped her board for the final stage of their journey. Numerous passengers noted the charming and beautiful young woman who was accompanied by a rugged mountain man. What she didn't see were the glaring looks he gave any man who dared to look at her with more than a passing glance.

After boarding the train to New York, they settled into an open-section sleeping compartment and ate their meals in the dining car. When both became weary from their journey, their bench seats were converted into sleeping berths, and a curtain was drawn between the two sections. Michaela realized her mother would be horrified at her lack of decorum if she were ever to know of her daughter's sleeping arrangements. This behavior would be considered scandalous and could have been grounds for her mother's disowning her. However, for some reason she was reluctant to probe too deeply, it just seemed too comfortable, too desirable to let their time together be interrupted by society's rigid directives.

As the white curtain softly fluttered from the soft breeze of the partially open compartment window, Sully lay on his narrow cot and watched her shadow as she brushed her long hair and prepared for bed.

"Dr. Mike?" he called softly to the graceful shadow that was tormenting his thoughts and keeping him from a restful night's sleep.

"Yes, Sully? Do you need something?"

Oh, how he realized he could not honestly answer that question, as his response would be enough to frighten the genteel woman he was coming to care for deeply. If only he could tell her how he dreamed about pushing the curtain aside, reaching for her willing frame, and drawing her down onto the narrow mattress underneath his aching body. How he wanted nothing more than to kiss her sweet lips, explore her delicious mouth with his tongue, and trail wet kisses down her neck before pushing aside her nightgown to suckle on her rigid nipples. As he lay on the mattress, his mind carried him even further into his sensual daydream as his body longed for release. To have her touch him and run her delicate hands across his shoulders and lower back as he caressed her shapely body…to feel his knee part her thighs as he settled himself between them. All as she mewled sounds of pleasure…

"Sully? Is something wrong? Are you ill? You're groaning like you're in pain!" She cautiously pushed the curtain aside and stared at him with concern.

He quickly rolled onto his stomach and raised his head from the pillow before muttering that he was fine and for her to get some rest.

"All right. But you called my name and acted as if you had a question. Are you sure?" to which he snapped, "Dr. Mike! Just go to sleep. Okay?"

She quickly closed the curtain and snuffed out the brass oil lamp mounted to the wall above her berth. He could hear the rustling of the bedclothes as she settled down for the night.

Her last word before succumbing to sleep was a softly whispered, "Goodnight," to which she got no response.

Sully lay quietly on his side of the curtain, his piercing blue eyes staring at the upholstered ceiling, until the light of dawn at last crept through the shades of the sleeping car…


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

As the steam locomotive pulled into the into the newly constructed Grand Central Depot at the corner of Lexington and Madison Avenues, he was relieved to finally put some distance between himself and Dr. Mike. The cramped traveling quarters had made it difficult for him to refrain from expressing his developing feelings, and he feared he might disgrace himself by becoming too forward with his refined and naïve traveling companion. Fortunately, she appeared oblivious to his increasing discomfort.

It was also the first time he had returned to the city since his ma had died. Although he had no blood kin left there or, for that matter, anywhere else, he still felt a peculiar affinity for the poor neighborhood, Five Points in the Sixth Ward, where he had lived with his parents and older brother after they emigrated from England. The Sixth Ward was a foul-smelling, dirty slum of narrow alleyways and rundown houses with broken windows. Drunks and prostitutes littered the street corners. Murders were an everyday occurrence.

His brother, christened Percy William, who his ma called Willie, had been killed while trying to flee a rival gang of boys. He was thrown and dragged to death across the dirt-and-cobblestone street when his foot caught in the stirrup of a stolen horse behind McSorley's Pub in the East Village. His pa had died from what his ma had called a "broken heart." Pa never took to living in the city, as he had been a farmer before they immigrated to the United States. His mother, inconsolable after his pa and brother's deaths, had drowned herself in the cold and brackish waters of the Lower Hudson River. Sully was only ten years old and had seen her jump from the bridge.

* * *

The pair exited the lavish depot terminal as the last light of day created long shadows against New York's many buildings. More than one traveler turned to stare at the unusually dressed, buckskin-clad, mountain man with the fashionably dressed young woman. They seemed a strange combination of the uncivilized and the sophisticated.

The red-capped porter hailed a carriage and loaded the varied pieces of their luggage into the boot. Sully assisted her up and into the landau and gave the driver the address of the Grand Hotel* at 1232 Broadway.

"You tired, Dr. Mike?" he asked in a concerned voice, as he draped a light traveling blanket across her knees.

She reclined back against the leather carriage seat before responding wearily, "A little, Sully. And more than ready to unpack and soak in a hot bath. How about you? Are you tired as well?"

His mind couldn't help but vividly picture her relaxing in a luxurious tub with her silky skin and rounded bosom barely hidden from his view. Only the depth of the bath water and the cloud of scented bubbles would keep him from seeing her resplendent body. He could imagine lifting her from the warm, fragrant water and wrapping her curvaceous figure in a soft towel before carrying her to a waiting bed. There he could touch all her secret places, inhale her distinctive womanly scent, and make passionate love to her throughout the night. Her tender murmurs of pleasure as he ran his hands across her back and clutched her delightful bottom before pulling her toward his hard…

Suddenly realizing she had asked him a question, he finally stumbled over his words replying, "Nah, uh, I ain't tired. This trip was lots easier than sleepin' in the woods. Besides, I got to look at beautiful scenery and spend time with you." His pulse had quickened at his audacious thoughts, and he turned to look at the passing store windows. He had to get his daydreaming under control before she realized he had progressed from being a friend to now wanting to be her lover.

Dr. Mike, who was secretly pleased he enjoyed spending time with her, didn't realize the beautiful scenery to which he referred was actually her…

* * *

There was a note from Mr. Watkins at the front desk of the hotel for Dr. Mike and Sully apologizing for his not meeting them upon arrival. Unfortunately, he was finalizing the photographic showing with Mr. John Jay, Esquire, the founder and benefactor of the museum, but hoped they would enjoy dinner in the hotel dining room as his guests.

The desk clerk, an older man who prided himself on his ability not to be flustered by eccentric or rancorous guests, was clearly surprised at the buckskin-clad doctor named Dr. Michael Quinn and his charming traveling companion. He looked across the high counter at Sully, addressed him as "Dr. Quinn," and invited him to sign the register.

Dr. Mike, upon hearing the clerk's mistake, responded in her best professional voice. "No, I am Dr. _Michaela_ Quinn, and this is Mr. Byron Sully. I believe we have rooms arranged by Mr. Watkins."

The clerk was clearly disconcerted. He looked at the pair and shoved the leather-bound hotel register closer for their signatures. "Uhhhh, I'm sorry…you're the doct…?" He suddenly stopped in mid-sentence as he saw anger flash in the woman's eyes. "There must have been some mistake. Foregive me, ma'am. We at the Grand Hotel pride ourselves on exemplary service, so please accept my apologies. I see where Mr. Watkins has requested a suite of rooms for your and the gentleman's stay."

Sully, who was secretly grinning as Dr. Mike bristled at the perceived offense, stepped forward to sign his name.

She glanced at the nameplate on the counter that read Mr. Henry, Front Desk Manager, before speaking further…

"Mr. Henry, Mr. Sully and I would prefer dinner be served in our suite in one hour. I would like baths prepared for us both afterwards. In addition, we will need the services of New York's best dressmaker and tailor tomorrow morning. Is that clear? Oh, and I will need the assistance of a hairdresser and lady's maid tomorrow evening." Dr. Mike, who was plainly peeved by the desk clerk's unfortunate mistake, tersely detailed her wishes.

The desk clerk mumbled an affirmative response and called for a uniformed bellhop to carry the luggage and escort the couple to their suite.

As she turned to follow the bellhop, Sully glanced over his shoulder and saw Mr. Henry wiping his brow with a clean, white handkerchief.

* * *

After the bellhop placed Dr. Mike's luggage and Sully's deerskin rucksack on their respective luggage stands, Sully tipped the young man and saw him to the door. There was a massive arrangement of pink and yellow roses on the side table, and Dr. Mike was intently reading the attached card.

"They're from Mr. Watkins. Oh, what a lovely thought and they smell divine," she intoned as she leaned over to inhale their sweet fragrance.

Sully, who was plainly jealous, walked over and snatched the card from her hand. It read: _My Dearest Dr. Quinn, I am delighted that you consented to being my honored guest at the gallery showing and I look forward to being your escort for the gala tomorrow evening. My photographs will pale when compared to your charming loveliness though_. It was signed, _With great affection, Daniel Watkins_. Sully tossed the floral card on the table and asked in a sarcastic voice, "So Watkins is escortin' you to the dance tomorrow night?"

"Well yes, Sully. Perhaps you misunderstood the invitation and note I received in Colorado Springs. It clearly stated I was to be his guest and he requested the honor of escorting me to the gala."

He'd been leaning against the side table but now pushed away from the table's edge and headed toward the doorway of his bed chamber. As he walked through the opening, he said without turning around, "Then I guess you don't need me ta go then. I think I'll get some sleep. Goodnight." The door shut decisively behind him.

Greatly perplexed, she called out in a bewildered tone. "What about dinner, Sully?" There was no answer, and the wooden door remained shut.

The following morning, she dined alone in the suite and heard no sound from the room across from hers. She had even pressed her ear against the heavy door but could not detect any noise at all_. Surely, he had not checked out and returned to Colorado, had he? It would be too embarrassing to ask the inept Mr. Henry. Why was Sully so annoyed last night? Would he be at the gala tonight? _Her discomfiting thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the suite door by Brigitte from Madame Fournier's Couture. Brigitte and her sewing assistants had brought several of Madame's most exquisite ball gowns. Dr. Mike finally selected an emerald green-and-black silk affair with hand-sewn lace and beaded appliqués. The gown, with its squared-off neckline and capped sleeves, had recently been featured in the Godey's Lady's Book. Her hair, she decided, would be dressed with masses of curls and allowed to trail across her bare shoulders.

Brigitte exclaimed as the assistants did the final fitting. "_Mademoiselle Quinn. Vous etes tres magnifque et belle! Vous etes une vision dan cette robe!" _She then called to the assistants to hurry and finish the alterations._ "Dépêchez-vous. Dépêchez-vous_."

Later in the afternoon, an armed courier from the renowned Tiffany & Co. delivered a wooden jewelry case with satin lining to her room. The box contained a large emerald-and-diamond necklace, matching earrings, and two gem-encrusted hair combs. The accompanying note invited her as the evening's guest of honor to borrow the jewels, compliments of the famed jewelry store.

She could only hope Sully would have an opportunity to see her in the stunning dress she had so carefully chosen for the evening's festivities. Though society might look askance at her preference, she was not dressing to catch the attentions of a famous photographer but rather was set on capturing the heart of a handsome mountain man…

* * *

_*The Grand Hotel was built in 1868 at the direction of Elias S. Higgins to provide luxury accommodations for guests who visited nearby theatres and restaurants. The hotel was designed in the French Second Empire style and featured an impressive mansard roof design. The building was added to The National Register of Historic Places in 1983._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPER 5**

The hotel had sent up a lady's maid and hairdresser as requested, and Dr. Mike stood in front of the cheval floor mirror adjusting the dress over her underpinnings before spraying a light honeysuckle perfume onto her wrists and throat. The gown with the emerald jewelry was spectacular, and she hoped Sully would think her attractive. There had been sounds of splashing water followed by voices coming from his chambers earlier in the evening, but whoever he was speaking with had exited via the side door rather than through the main salon of the suite.

As she turned from the mirror to tentatively knock on his closed bedchamber door, there was a knock at the main salon door. The uniformed bellhop who had previously carried their luggage stood nervously in the open doorway.

"Uh, Miss…I mean, Dr. Quinn? Mr. Watkins has sent a carriage. It is downstairs awaiting your pleasure."

"Thank you. By chance have you seen Mr. Sully?"

"Yes, ma'am. Uh, I mean Dr. Quinn. He is in the hotel lounge.

"Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't think I know your name." she looked at the young man and smiled.

The flustered bellhop looked back at the beautiful guest and, red-faced, murmured, "My name is James, ma'am."

"Well, James, please tell the driver I will be down in a moment."

* * *

As she descended the marble stairway to the spacious lobby, Sully, who had been leaning against one of the marble pillars that supported the multi-story atrium, leisurely strolled across the tiled floor to stand at the bottom of the massive staircase. She did not notice the stylishly dressed man waiting near the bottom step until he spoke. "Good evening, Dr. Quinn. I must say you're lookin' quite fetchin' in that gown this evening."

"Sully! I, uh, you are looking very handsome as well." She dropped her eyes but continued to furtively look at him through her long eyelashes. She noted he was dressed at the height of fashion in a black tailcoat with a shawl collar, matching trousers, and a white cravat or neck cloth. He was freshly shaven, and his shoulder-length hair had been trimmed. Sully, she thought, had always been attractive even in his buckskins with the Cheyenne beads and medicine pouch. Now, he was magnificent, and she noted several women in the lobby admiring his manly physique.

He reached to take her arm and usher her to the front door. With arms intertwined, the other guests couldn't help but admire the eye-catching couple.

"Dr. Mike? Will you let me escort you to the lobby of the museum? I believe Mr. Watkins is meetin' you there."

She was elated to be on his arm and could not hide her delight at his request. "Thank you, sir, I would be honored to have what most certainly shall be the handsomest man at the gala accompanying me."

As they approached the carriage, he abruptly stopped, placed his hands on either side of her waist, and looked intently into her bi-colored eyes. "Jus' remember, you may be on Mr. Watkins' arm tonight, but don't forget who's escortin' you to the dance and who'll be escortin' you back to the hotel."

He spoke quietly to the carriage driver for a moment and then swung her around and lifted her up into the open carriage. Rather than sitting opposite her, he took the seat next to hers and placed a travel blanket carefully over her lap. "Are you gonna be warm enough without a cloak?"

"I'll be fine. Perhaps I should have brought my silk wrap, but I didn't want to wrinkle my dress."

"Well, we couldn't have that, so I guess you'll jus' have to sit close to me." Sully raised the corner of his mouth and then touched a curled tendril of coppery hair before leaning forward and tilting her chin upward with his tanned index finger. He bent his head downward, his face in the shadow of the streetlight, and kissed her tenderly. As the carriage pulled away from the hotel, he could hear her whimper as he deepened the kiss. His lips forced hers open as his tongue made a tentative foray into her mouth. There was only a slight stiffening of her body, and then she moaned softly. His hand moved to grasp the back of her neck as he continued his gentle assault on her luscious mouth. He finally pulled away to ascertain her reaction to his advances. She smiled and looked coyly up at him through half-closed eyes. "Mr. Sully, I do believe this is going to be a most pleasurable evening."

It was only the second kiss they had ever shared. The first had come on Dr. Mike's birthday. That was the best kiss she'd ever had…until tonight…

* * *

The carriage, rather than heading down Park Avenue toward the museum, turned and entered the gates at Central Park. "Sully? Where are you taking me? We're going to miss the gallery opening and be late for the gala."

"Nah. We'll jus' be a little late. I thought ya might enjoy a moonlight ride through the park. 'Sides, I need ta talk to you about somethin'."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression but made no comment. She noticed he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and he took a deep, troubled breath before speaking.

"Dr. Mike, Mr. Watkins is fond of sayin' that whiskey and truth should both be served straight up, and I happen to agree with 'im." She looked at him and squirmed uncomfortably, but he held up his hand as if to silence her. "I need to say somethin' to you. Okay? I want ya ta know how sorry I am that I walked out last night and didn't eat supper with you. After Abagail died, I didn't think I would ever have feelin's for another woman. I thought I'd be alone the rest of my days. That was okay with me until I met you and started thinkin' about a different kinda life. I ain't sure where this is goin', but when I hear a man like Mr. Watkins say things to ya that I wanna be able to say, I jus' plain get mad. You gettin' those flowers and that note was the last straw. Truth? The only reason I came on this trip was because I was jealous of you bein' alone here with him when I wanted to be the one to be with ya."

She looked down at her clasped hands and then looked up into his vivid blue eyes. Finally, taking a breath, she whispered, "Sully, I didn't come to New York to be with Mr. Watkins. He is a friend and nothing more. Perhaps you misunderstood, but he is not interested in courting me either. Surely you realize that. Tonight, I may be on his arm, but my thoughts will be on another man…and that man is you, Sully."

He smiled, leaned down, and briefly touched his lips to hers. "Glad we got this settled then. Let's go to this party 'cause the sooner we get there the sooner we can leave, and I can get you alone. Driver! Would ya take us to the museum now, please?"

The carriage arrived at the Fifth Avenue entrance of the Dodworth Building where the Metropolitan Museum of Art was temporarily housed and Daniel Watkins, dressed in tails and sporting a silver-handled cane, was standing on the stone steps waiting to usher his honored guests into the gala.

Sully jumped from the carriage and turned to shake the hand of the gray-haired photographer. He noted that Mr. Watkins had lost weight but otherwise appeared not to have changed since his visit to Colorado Springs almost six months previously.

"Dr. Quinn, Mr. Sully! I am immensely honored that you both could attend. Here, Dr. Quinn, let me help you down." He reached for her hand, but before she could take it, Sully swung around and lifted her off the carriage step and onto the cobblestone street.

Rather than turn Dr. Mike over to his host, Sully tucked her arm through his and escorted her into the building. Mr. Watkins smiled to himself and thought, _Mmm, my plan may be working. Mr. Sully seems quite possessive of the lovely doctor. _

He turned and followed the couple into the crowded ballroom_._

* * *

The gallery was filled with elegantly dressed guests who were intently perusing the many photographs depicting scenery and daily life in the Wild West. The images had all been mounted with white mattes and framed in piano wood…a nod to the Semmendinger camera that had captured so many of the distinctive images. Under each photograph was a printed description card. To the left of the gallery and through the lobby was the grand ballroom where an orchestra was playing a recently composed piece, _The Blue Danube_, a Viennese waltz. In the center of the gallery was a floral-decorated dais.

To the front and side of the gallery was an ornate easel, and on it rested a portrait of Dr. Michaela Quinn. She was seated on a leather-covered chaise and was dressed in a high-collar lace-adorned blouse, vest, and plaid skirt. Her hair, pulled back in a soft chignon at the base of her neck, had loose tendrils that framed her serene face. As Sully, Dr. Mike, and Watkins entered the gallery, many guests recognized the beautiful woman from her photograph and turned to stare and chatter amongst themselves.

Mr. Watkins touched the mountain man on the arm. "Mr. Sully, may I borrow this charming young woman for a moment? After all, I am her escort this evening." He looked at Sully, grinned, winked, and then extended his arm to usher her toward the dais. As they climbed the narrow steps to stand by the lectern, a nattily dressed gentleman stepped forward and began to address the throng of guests.

"Excuse me! May I have everyone's attention? For those of you who do not know me, my name is John Jay, and I am the president of the Union League Club. Several years ago, a group of civic-minded businessmen, art collectors, and I proposed a national institution and gallery of art. The result, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, was incorporated and opened earlier this year." He motioned his arm as to showcase the building and continued speaking through a spattering of applause. "Tonight, I am pleased to welcome Mr. Daniel Watkins, a talented photographer who has brought us a series of stereoscopic photographs depicting daily life in the Wild West, as well as a collection of photographs showcasing the magnificent scenery of the Colorado, Wyoming, and Dakota Territories. His collection of delightful photographs is the first of its type to be on exhibit in the museum. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Mr. Daniel Watkins."

There was a thunderous round of applause as he stepped up to the lectern, shook Mr. Jay's hand, and motioned for Dr. Mike to stand beside him. "Thank you for your kind words, John. When the railroad first approached me about doing a series of geological photographs of the western territories, I was honored to have such a rare opportunity. Along the way, I was very fortunate to see and photograph many spectacular landscapes. However, for my personal portfolio, I took numerous photographs of the West's intrepid inhabitants. Many of you may have already viewed the stereoscopic series depicting the life of a lady doctor in Colorado Springs. I am... I mean, we are fortunate to have the lady doctor with us this evening. She has graciously traveled across this vast country to be my honored guest, and I am immensely pleased to introduce to you such a beautiful, caring woman and a brilliant physician. Dr. Michaela Quinn."

She stepped forward in embarrassment as the guests applauded, then smiled and spoke softly. "Thank you, Mr. Watkins, for your kind words and for making me feel so welcome." He took her arm again and leaned over to place a quick kiss on her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sully, who had been standing at the back of the room, raise his head and glower in their direction. Watkins caught that same scowl and smiled to himself. As he led her from the dais toward the ballroom, the guests parted and allowed the dapper older man and the beautiful young doctor to lead the way.

Sully? Well, he leaned against the foyer wall, arms crossed, and silently seethed in jealousy. Watkins' plan was working…


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

The orchestra was playing a selection of waltzes from _Tales of the Vienna Woods_ by Johann Strauss, Jr. when Mr. Watkins led Dr. Mike out onto the marble-tiled floor. After a quick turn around the room, he relinquished her to a foppish young man who thought he was an excellent dancer. Her toes begged to disagree.

Watkins stood next to Sully as they watched her dancing with numerous gentlemen. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled, and occasionally they could hear her soft laughter as she was twirled around the ballroom.

Even though he suspected he knew the answer, Mr. Watkins turned to the brooding younger man and asked, "So, Sully, you haven't asked Dr. Quinn to dance. What are you waiting on?"

"I think you know why. Besides, she already has enough partners." Sully, with his arms crossed, continued looking straight ahead.

"Then let me ask you something else. Just why did you come to New York? It certainly wasn't because of my photographs. Perhaps you have other interests?" When Sully refused to answer, Watkins continued his line of thought. "I am inclined to think the beautiful Dr. Quinn might have influenced your sudden desire to travel East. If I am correct in my suppositions, then I must congratulate you on finally realizing what I recognized when we first met almost six months ago."

Sully turned and stared directly into Watkins' blue eyes. "What're you tryin' ta say?"

He smiled and shook his head in astonishment. "Oh, Mr. Sully, I do believe you have developed strong feelings for Dr. Quinn. In Colorado Springs, I could see the love in her eyes for you, and I couldn't understand your reluctance to reciprocate her feelings. After all, a man could spend his entire life looking for a woman like her. I think you have learned that as well, and frankly, it scares the hell out of you! I saw you in the gallery earlier this evening staring at her photograph when you thought no one was looking."

Sully looked at the photographer, his blue eyes glittering, and started to walk out onto the dance floor.

* * *

Suddenly there were screams, several gunshots, and strange clomping sounds coming from the lobby. The orchestra, hearing the noises, put their instruments down and looked at the maestro in confusion. The guests all turned toward the arched doorway. Sully was only a few feet from Dr. Mike as she and her elderly partner ceased dancing when the orchestra had stopped playing.

Just as he took a final step toward her, four masked gunmen on horseback burst through the arched doorway of the ballroom. Many guests started running as they tried to avoid the sharp horses' hooves. "Nobody move!" The lead gunman, wearing a black mask and pointing a new Schofield revolver*, motioned with his gun for the other masked gunmen to fan out across the room. Several women screamed as the horses trod across the crowded floor. "Shut yer traps and listen up. I want ya fine ladies to remove all that fancy jewelry yer wearin' and place it in me laddies' saddlebags. That goes for you gents' money and pocket watches. Anything of value you better put in the bag if you know what's good for you. Nobody make a move, and this here band can start playin', and you all can start dancin' agin real soon."

Sully, realizing Dr. Mike was wearing the expensive emerald necklace, eased over to stand in front of her as the armed horsemen rode throughout the room collecting their loot. He could feel her hand pressed against the small of his back as she peered around his shoulder to watch the robbery. He never took his eyes off the gunmen as he tried to slowly back her behind a massive potted palm tree near the side entrance to the terrace.

Just as they reached the palm tree, one of the gunmen turned on his horse and pointed his .45 caliber single-action revolver directly at Sully's heart. "Where da you and the lady think you're a goin'?" He cocked the hammer and motioned for her to step in front of Sully. When she didn't move, the robber leaned over in his saddle and pointed the gun at her head. "Give me that thar necklace and earbobs, lass, or you ain't gonna have a head on which to wear 'em."

As he tried to shield Dr. Mike's body and still stay focused on the gunman's eyes, he muttered under his breath, "Giv 'em the jewelry. It ain't worth your life." As she stepped around him, she raised both hands behind her neck and struggled to release the heavy clasp. Sully, seeing the robber eyeing the emerald necklace nestled in her _décolletage_, reached and pulled on the necklace chain, breaking the clasp. "Now, give me them earbobs and fancy hair things while you're at it, and we'll jus' be on our way."

Just as she reached to remove her earrings, the ringleader rode up alongside and barked an order to his associate. "Hurry! We gotta git out of here before we git caught." As she placed the jewelry in the canvas saddlebag, there was a loud noise from across the room.

The foppish young man who had been her dance partner earlier in the evening was arguing with one of the robbers about relinquishing his gold pocket watch. Suddenly he pulled out a .41 caliber pearl-handled double-barreled derringer and pointed it at the gunman. The tiny pistol seemed to amuse the gunman who was pointing his own weapon, an older .44 caliber massive Dragoon. This infuriated the foolish guest who fired wildly, and the bullet grazed the robber's shoulder. Some guests screamed while others cowered on the floor. Just as Sully subconsciously reached for his non-existent tomahawk, New York City policemen rushed into the ballroom and pandemonium ensued.

The lead gunman, knowing he was trapped, grabbed Dr. Mike by the arm and pulled her up into the saddle and across his lap. Sully realized she was about to be taken from the ballroom as a hostage and dove toward the masked robber in an attempt to wrestle her from his grasp. She screamed and wriggled but was unable to free herself. Several policemen rushed forward, and the robber-now-turned-kidnapper pointed his revolver at Sully's head. "You move agin and I'll kill you fer sure and the lady fer good measure. If ya want to see 'er agin, you just stay back!"

He stepped back and raised his hands. He then looked straight into the gunman's eyes…vivid blue eyes that mirrored his own. There was a moment of recognition, a moment where Sully thought he was looking into the eyes of his brother…a boy who had been dead for years.

As the four gunmen rode their horses up the marble ballroom steps and out the front entrance, Sully screamed, "Michaela! I will find you!" and he started running after the departing thieves and their most valuable treasure…his beloved Michaela.

* * *

Mr. Watkins, whose silver-handled cane had been broken so the thieves could fit it in their saddlebags, hurriedly limped toward Sully and stopped him near the doorway. "Sully, wait! Let the police go after Dr. Quinn. We'll also get Pinkerton's detectives on this."

"I ain't waitin' for them or nobody else. She needs me, and besides I know where they'll go. I know the bad sides of New York, an' that's where they'll take her."

Mr. Watkins reached to grab him by the arm, but Sully shook his hand away and started running for the street. He had to find Michaela. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped thinking of her as Dr. Mike.

Now she was his Michaela…and his heart…

* * *

_*The Schofield revolver, a .44 caliber Smith & Wesson model 3, originally developed in 1869-1870, was the first rear-loading revolver that used standard-issue cartridges rather than black powder and caps. It could fire all six cartridges and be reloaded with one hand while on horseback. The Schofield was the favored weapon of outlaws and lawmen. After Major George W. Schofield made design improvements in 1870 for the army cavalry, the modified model 3 was formally named the "Schofield Revolver" in 1875 by the manufacturer, Smith & Wesson._


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7 **

The four masked robbers, with packed saddlebags and their lone hostage, raced through side streets and alleyways before reaching an abandoned warehouse behind McSorley's Pub.* As they rode their horses into the darkened building, Dr. Mike could feel herself slipping from the rider's grasp until finally he dropped her on the rough-hewn floor. "Finn, git some rope and tie this little hellion up! She done scratched me and tried to bite me. Watch 'er though. She's likely to try to take yer head off."

Suddenly Dr. Mike was pushed into a windowless side room where she was shoved into a chair and her hands and feet were tied with scraps of dirty shipping rope. "Let me go! I said let me go! You don't need me. You got away from the police." As Finn struggled to finish tying the knots, the leader of the gang walked over and grasped her by the chin and pulled her face up to look into his. "Quit your hollerin' and you may git out of this with your pretty little neck in one piece."

As she continued to struggle, she boldly retorted, "If you kill me, then the police will find you, and you'll be arrested for my murder." Finn and the others just laughed.

With a little more bravado and threats of her own, she struggled against the tight bonds and hissed at the men, "Laugh all you want, but if you hurt me, Sully will hunt you down and kill you himself. He lived with the Cheyenne Indians and knows a hundred ways to torture you slowly to death!"

The ringleader suddenly tightened his hands on her chin and demanded, "What did you say? Sully? Who's this Sully?" As she tried to jerk her chin away from his hand, she looked up into her tormentor's eyes…blue eyes that she would have recognized anywhere...Sully's eyes.

* * *

He ran to the corner of 53rd street and 5th Avenue before leaning over to grasp his knees and catch his breath. He could no longer hear the sounds of galloping horses' hooves, and the thieves had vanished from sight. He knew by their dialect they were of Irish descent and probably would hide somewhere around Five Points in the Sixth Ward. Five Points was notorious for criminal activities, and murders were commonplace. No respectable carriage service would dare take him there, especially after dark, so Sully kept running.

As he entered the infamous Sixth Ward and started up Mulberry Street, he realized he needed to get out of his dress clothes so as to better blend in with the slum's unfortunate inhabitants. He bypassed busy brothels and gambling dens until he came across a rope clothesline and filched a pair of well-worn woolen pants and a rough cotton shirt. There was even a serviceable tweed coat that would keep out the night's chill.

He could hear dogs barking off in the distance and sounds of a man taking his pleasure with a prostitute in a nearby alley. There were no streetlights or street signs, but Sully knew the area. It had been his playground until he fled the city as a ten-year-old boy.

"Ah, lovey, me name is Bertie, can a' interest ya in a good time?" Sully, who had been slipping through the shadows, turned to look at the older hardened street whore. "Na. I'm lookin' for somebody. I'd be willin' to pay you for your help in findin' 'im."

"Well, it'll cost you. Who ya be lookin' for?"

He pulled the whore back against the side of an abandoned building and motioned for her to be quiet. Several men who had obviously imbibed too much ale at a local pub stumbled by, singing a raunchy ditty.

When they passed out of sight, Sully lied to the woman. "I'm lookin' for a blue-eyed fellow, got real bright blue eyes, who might be ridin' with a gang and robbin' rich folks. They went into that fancy museum party earlier tonight and held up a buncha dandies. They took my wife who was workin' as a maid, and I need ta git her back."

"Oh, lad, if ya are lookin' for who I think you're lookin' for, he's a bad one. He and his laddies run things around here. You best be leavin' him be."

"I can't. He's got my wife, and I got a houseful of youngins that need their ma. I'll give you a Half Eagle for your help." He pulled the gold coin from his pocket and showed it to the greedy woman. "It's more'n ya make in a week, and the information is that important to me."

She reached for the coin, and Sully closed his fist over it. "You gotta tell me the truth, and you can't tell a soul about us talkin'. You gotta promise."

"I promise, lad, but it's your head on the choppin' block. Will has a black heart, and he'll kill ya fer sure."

"Will who, and where can I find him?"

"Will Sully, and you can find him and his laddies in an empty warehouse somewhere near St. Marks Place. If they ain't there, they'll be at Sullivan's Chrystie Street Saloon** tippin' a pint or two. Be careful though. If they have yer wife, they'll be waitin' on you."

He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked as he asked the question, "Did you say Will Sully?"

"Ahh, ya know of him then. You best be careful, as I think he's one of the Whyos.*** They're all a thievin', murderin' lot. That gangs takin' over Five Points, and they be workin' to take the Fourth Ward as well. I even hear he's been seen with "Dandy" John Dolan.

He felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. "What does this Will Sully look like?"

"Oh let's see, he's about forty-four, has short brown hair and a mustache. Of course, he's got those blue eyes that could make a real lady forget her raisin', if you know what I mean...just like yer eyes. You ain't kin to him, are ya?"

"Na, Bertie. Just wanted to know so I'd recognize him. Here, take this coin and go on home. Take the night off. It's too cold to be out here anyway."

As she grabbed the coin and put it down the front of her blouse between sagging breasts, Sully slipped around the corner of the building and disappeared.

* * *

She could hear the thieves in the other room, and they appeared to be arguing about what to do with her. The leader, the one she heard another man call Will, kept saying something about Sully. Evidently, her threat about Sully's killing him slowly had made an impact. _Good! I hope I scared him to death. Perhaps he will let me go. After all, the police are bound to show up any minute. Besides, Sully has to be looking for me as well. But I need to be ready to escape if I get a chance. There's got to be something around here I can use as a weapon._

As she looked around the barren, dark storage room, Will, the ringleader, walked back in and forced her to sip murky water from an old tin cup. "So back to me question. Tell me about this Sully lad."

"What do you want to know other than he's going to kill you?"

Will, who had been standing over her, took the remaining water in the cup and threw it in her face. "Don't get smart with me, lass. I can kill ya right now and be done with your mouth. Tell me about this Sully. Where he was born. How old he is. Where he lives. And what are you to him?"

When she refused to answer, he drew his hand back and slapped her across the face. "Start answerin' before I let me boys have ya for some entertainin'."

She could feel the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and her cheek was starting to swell. "I don't know much about his early life. I think he was born here but left to go out West and be a miner. He got married and lived in Colorado Springs until his wife and baby died. He lived with the Cheyenne for a time and acts as a guide on occasion. He's in his thirties and still lives in Colorado."

"What's he doin' back in New York?"

"He came with me to visit a mutual friend. The photographer whose gala you and your men robbed tonight."

"So he came all the way from out West with a fussin', complainin' harpy like you to go to see a bunch of pictures?"

"Yes! And I'm not a harpy. I'll have you know I am a physician. A surgeon in fact."

Will started guffawing. "Yeah, lass, and I be Ulysses S. Grant. Women ain't doctors. Besides, you're dressed too bread an' honey to be anything but some fancy-arse debutante. Although ye are a little old to be catchin' a husband. Maybe this Sully fellow likes old biddies."

Dr. Mike, who was livid, started struggling to loosen her bonds as she screeched out at the blue-eyed kidnapper, "How dare you!"

He turned, still laughing, and closed the door to the small room. She was left in total darkness.

* * *

_*McSorley's Old Ale House is the oldest Irish pub in New York City and is believed to have opened its doors to the public sometime in 1854, and the current building dates from 1865. It was originally called "The Old House at Home," but the name quickly changed to reflect the original founder's name, John McSorley. Ironically, women were not allowed into the pub until 1970._

_**_ _Sullivan's Chrystie Street Saloon was an actual pub and was the favored meeting place for leaders of The Whyos gang._

_***The Whyos were a notorious New York City street gang that rose to prominence during the late 1860's. Composed of thieves and murderers, they controlled most of Manhattan. John Dolan, a Whyos gang leader was known for his murder-for-hire skills and for developing several lethal gang weapons. He was eventually convicted and hanged in 1876. _


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Sully reached the warehouse district on St. Marks Place and started peering through dirty windows and checking for unlocked doors. The area was quiet, as most of the rabble-rousers were several streets away, and there were no lighted lamps anywhere. It was well after midnight, and only a quarter moon provided a wan glow by which to see. _Where is she? Is she alright? Have they hurt her or even done something worse? Why didn't they just let her go? She's no value to them. Michaela! Don't give up! I'll find you! _His mind was reeling with unanswered questions and thoughts. _Who is this Will Sully? It has to be a coincidence. My brother died years ago. I saw him get pulled across the cobblestone street with his foot caught in the stirrup. Yet those eyes. My eyes. My ma's eyes. Nah. It couldn't be._

He stealthily moved from one building to another, his only company the giant wharf rats that roamed the street looking for whatever scraps they could find. At the far end of the narrow alleyway was a pale light just visible through the boarded-up windows of an old cotton warehouse. He slipped past wooden barrels of trash and piles of debris to crouch down under the window. Through a gap between the boards he could see several men seated on small wooden barrels and using an old shipping crate as a table. They were sorting through the canvas saddlebags of loot stolen from the gala. Sully had found the robbers but where was Michaela?

He eased around the side of the building looking for an unlocked door or open window. Against the corner furthest from where he had seen the men was an old metal ladder that led up to a second story window. It probably would have been used as a means to escape during a fire. For Sully's purposes, it was an ideal way to gain entry to the warehouse. He shinnied up the ladder, slipped through the broken window, and silently jumped onto the dirty plank floor. Pigeons roosting on the high crossbeams of the building fluttered their wings and cooed softly but did not take flight.

The voices from below were getting louder, and Sully suspected they were getting soused from drinking pints of ale. He crept down the iron staircase and crouched behind a pile of rotting wood. There was still no sign of Michaela.

Just as he started to ease back up the steps, he heard her voice. It was coming from a behind a closed doorway that was hidden in the shadows to the right of where the men were gathered.

"Excuse me. Is anyone listening? Do you intend to leave me tied up in here all night?" Michaela's voice dripped with her sarcasm, and her Bostonian upbringing was apparent in every word. Sully couldn't help but smile. Truth be told, he was relieved to hear that imperious tone because that meant she was alive and not hurt. Now, he just needed a way to rescue her.

As her vocal demands persisted, the ringleader finally went to the door and jerked it open. "Shut yer mouth up or I'll stuff a rag in it. Nothin' worse than a harpy spoutin' a bunch of claptrap. We ain't decided what ta do with ya yet. Bet somebody would pay a whoppin' ransom to git ya back. This Sully fellow, he might pay to git ya back, but I don't see why. Maybe one of those dandies from the party might be willin'."

He turned from the door, shut it, and left her alone in the dark again. "Finn, you can read an' write. Write me out a ransom to that old bloke at the museum, the one with the fancy cane who was squiring the little lassie tonight, and tell 'em they can have 'er back for five hundred dollars in gold. We'll trade 'm at that new bridge they're buildin' over the river at daybreak."

Finn sat down and hurriedly scribbled out a note on an old shipping label. "Ya know the bloke's name, Will?"

"Nah. Just take it and put it in the museum door. Somebody'll find it. Don't get your arse caught 'cause if ya do, I'll kill ya meself. Ya hear?"

Sully, who had heard their plans, slipped back up the stairs and out the broken window. Michaela was alright for now, and the best time to rescue her would be when the robbers showed up at the bridge. He didn't know if Mr. Watkins would receive the note, but more than likely the Pinkerton Detectives would see it, and they would be lying in wait.

He had to get Michaela safely away from a possible shootout …and he had to find out just who Will Sully really is…

* * *

The first rays of dawn were still several hours away as Sully crouched behind a trash barrel and watched the warehouse. He had seen Finn ride off on his horse and then return about an hour later. There had been no movement since then, and the alleyway was deserted. As he sat huddled in the cold and darkness, his thoughts turned to his feelings for Michaela. _We're so different. Why can't I stay away from her? I even followed her all the way to New York…a place I'd sworn to never come back to. Why is she always on my mind? Was Watkins right? Am I in love with Michaela? Yet, I thought I would be alone the rest of my life. What about Abagail? Do I even have the right to love another woman after I'd cost my wife her life? After all, it was carrying my baby that had caused her death. Do I even deserve another chance at happiness? _The longer he sat watching the warehouse, the more the unanswered questions seemed to torment him.

Finally, just as the sun was breaking over the buildings at the East River's edge, he saw movement at the warehouse door. The four men with masks covering the lower half of their faces were leaving on horseback. Michaela, her dress torn, her face bruised, and her hands tied, was seated crossways on Will Sully's lap as they rode toward the bridge. They had gagged her to prevent her calling out for help.

Sully slipped from his hiding place and followed the armed men. He needed to be in place before they got to the bridge, and luckily he could take paths the horses couldn't travel. Besides, it would give him a chance to see where the robbers hid and if the Pinkerton Detectives were planning an ambush.

_If anybody harmed Michaela or she got caught in a cross-fire…_he couldn't finish the thought.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Dr. Mike kept glancing up at Will as they rode toward the rendezvous point. _Who was this man that reminded her of Sully? He had never mentioned any family…but those blue eyes were eerily familiar. Even the questions the ringleader had asked seemed peculiar. He had never asked Sully's first name…it was as if he somehow already knew the answer. They could have just killed her. Perhaps they really thought someone would pay the ransom. Did Mr. Watkins have the necessary funds? Sully surely didn't. Someone could wire Boston. But did they know how to even reach her mother? Conceivably, Sully had sent a telegram_. As more questions kept coming to mind, the motley group arrived at the bridge. The bridge where she had heard the exchange was to take place.

_Would Sully be there to save her? _She was about to get her answer…

* * *

Will ordered Finn and the other men to hide and be ready for an ambush. The horses were hidden behind an abandoned mercantile, and Dr. Mike was pulled off the horse and dragged behind two scraggly oak trees near the water's edge. There they waited for the ransom money to be delivered.

Sully ducked behind a stack of construction lumber on the west side of the bridge and watched for any movement across the river. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swung around with his fist drawn. As he drew back, he realized it was Watkins with a man he had never seen before.

"Sully, I knew you would be here. This is Samuel Smith. He's with the New York office of Pinkerton's. We've got the ransom money for Dr. Quinn." Watkins held out an open leather satchel so Sully could see the money inside. "There's five hundred dollars in here."

Mr. Smith pushed his coat back so Sully could see his gun belt. "Our agents have secured a four block perimeter, and I can assure you, Mr. Sully, they are prepared to use deadly force if necessary. These nefarious lawbreakers will not escape. Pinkerton's will bring them to justice…one way or the other."

Hearing the fervor in the detective's voice, he looked first at Watkins and then glared straight into the eyes of the Pinkerton agent. He spit out the words as he tried to control his anger. "Wait a minute! The most important thing is to get Dr. Mike away from them and unharmed. Then I don't care whatcha do. But if any of ya'll cause her to get hurt, ya'll will answer to me. Is that plain enough for ya, Mr. Smith?"

Watkins, who had been standing quietly, put his hand on Sully's arm and tried to calm him down. "I'll take the money, Sully. I promise you I will not let anything happen to Dr. Quinn." Sully grabbed the satchel and looked defiantly at the two men. "No! I'll take the ransom money. You two wait here."

He turned and started walking toward the center of the newly constructed bridge. Even though the sun was creeping over the rooftops, visibility was reduced, as a dense fog was rising off the river. As an afterthought, he wondered if Will Sully had chosen the bridge because the thick fog would make it harder to see what was happening by anyone stationed at the riverbank. He stopped near the bridge's center and sat the satchel down at his feet. He could feel eyes on him, but no one came forward, and the only sounds were the wind blowing and the rushing water underneath the plank bridge.

He waited and watched. Finally, several minutes passed, and he could see someone walking across the bridge toward him. It was Michaela. Her hands were still tied and her mouth gagged. Will Sully walked behind her gripping her arm and holding a gun to her head. Just as the pair neared where Sully was standing, they stopped, and Will wrapped his arm around her chest and pulled her body against his.

"Raise ya hands! Is that the money?" Will demanded as he nodded toward the case at Sully's feet.

"Dr. Mike, are you alright?" Sully raised his hands but ignored the question. She mumbled something unintelligible and cut her eyes toward the bridge embankment as if trying to tell him something.

Will jerked her by the arm, and she uttered a muffled yelp. "Shut up! I'm tired of listenin' to ya complain'."

Sully, seeing her wince in pain, tried not to react but wanted to thrash the gunman for daring to lay a hand on her. "Let er' go, Will. I've got your ransom. All I want is her, and then you can get outta here."

"So ya know who I am, little brother." Will laughed sarcastically.

"You ain't my brother. My brother's dead. I saw him drug to death when I was small. I don't know who ya are, but you ain't Will." Dr. Mike, who was still being held against the front of the kidnapper, looked at Sully, her eyes wide and questioning.

"That's where ya be wrong, _Byron_ Sully. I am your brother. Jus' not the one ya think."

"So you know my name. How do I know someone didn't tell ya what it is?" Sully nodded toward Dr. Mike. "Maybe she told ya."

"This biddy ain't told me nothin'. All she does is harpin an' complain' and threatenin' to have ya kill me." Will laughed riotously at the thought. "Nah, me boy. I may not be yer sainted brother Willie, as yer mam called him, but we share the same da. Where do ya think we got these blue eyes?"

Sully was becoming angrier the longer Will talked. "My ma had blue eyes. I got mine from her. Besides, my pa was only ever with my ma. Anyways, he died right after I was born."

"Yer ma was so busy with her sainted lad Willie, and then ye came along, and all she did was stay in 'er bed and wail. Acted all sad all the time. Yer pa needed some relief from her caterwaulin' and laid with my mam. She was an ol' whore but yer pa din't mind. Of course, he couldn't tell yer ma what he done, and then I came along nine months later. Everbody knew who my da was, and then the ol' fool had to up an' die."

Will looked down at the ground for a moment and then back up into Sully's eyes. Dr. Mike, who had been standing quietly, squirmed, and he pressed the gun tighter against her temple.

"When yer ma kilt herself by jumpin' in the river and yo left for parts unknown, I decided I'd be Will Sully, sainted son and brother. Nobody remembered him a dyin', and you were gone so I gave up bein' Padric Nolan, the bastard son of yer pa and me whoring mam, and become Will Sully. It won't till you came back that anybody would ask any questions. If I kill ya, then there won't be no one left who knows except this lassie here. I get me money, an' then she can die jus' like you."

As Will stopped speaking, Dr. Mike started struggling in his arms. He thrust her away and reached to pick up the satchel. Sully leapt forward to stop him. Dr. Mike, seeing Will raise his gun toward Sully's heart, plowed her shoulder into the side of his arm, and the gun fired…the bullet missing Sully and hitting the wooden bridge railing.

Just as the gun went off, Will shoved Dr. Mike backwards, and as if in slow motion, Sully saw her stumble over her torn ball gown and topple over the bridge railing. "Michaela!" he screamed and started running toward the spot where she had disappeared. Will raised his gun to fire at Sully when a group of Pinkerton agents swarmed the bridge and fired, hitting the gunman. He fell down dead as Sully jumped over his lifeless body, jerked his coat off, and climbed over the railing. In the background, his mind registered the sounds of more gunfire and Mr. Watkins and Mr. Smith calling out for him not to jump. He ignored them all. He had to get to Michaela. He hadn't been able to save his ma…but he would save the woman he loved.

That was his last thought as he hit the murky, frigid water…


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Sully dove off the bridge where he'd seen Michaela's green ball gown momentarily spread out on the surface like an open parasol. When he hit the freezing water, the strong current immediately started pulling him under. With her hands tied and mouth gagged, Michaela would not have any ability to fight her way to the surface or call for help. The weight of the sodden ball gown would also drag her downwards.

The water was so black he couldn't see anything, and the fog on the surface obscured the sun from overhead. He repeatedly dove downwards searching for her by feel alone. His body was getting numb, and the cold was sapping his strength. He knew he would lose his life in this river before he would ever give up. He had to save her.

He clawed his way upward, finally breaking free of the water's strong undertow, and gasped for air before diving back under to continue looking for her. He was being pulled toward open water, and the bridge had disappeared from his view. As he descended for the last time, he knew he was going to die. He was prepared. His only regret was not saving Michaela. Her children, her family, her friends…they loved her. Her patients needed her. He would not live without her…

Just as he drew his last breath and went under, he felt something brush against his hand. He was so disoriented it didn't register at first. Finally, his frozen hands grasped something. It felt like Michaela's long hair. With a renewed burst of strength, he propelled himself upwards, never loosening his grip on her hair. As his body broke the water's surface, he pulled her up, grabbed her arms, and flipped her over on her back. He started swimming toward the river's edge.

Although Michaela didn't weigh that much, her wet ball gown and the strong undertow made it almost impossible to reach the grassy riverbank. He swam downstream and slightly parallel until he grabbed a bridge pier and pulled them both out of the water. He dragged her limp body up on the bank, rolled her over on her back, and removed her gag. As soon as the dirty scrap of cloth was removed, she started retching. He lifted her into his lap and held her head as she emptied her stomach of river water.

"Michaela? Are you alright? Can ya hear me?" She could hear the panic in his voice and opened her eyes but still couldn't respond. "I've got to get you to the hospital. You're frozen." His numb fingers fumbled with the ropes around her wrists until he finally managed to untie them.

"No. No hospital. I…I'm okay. Go to…go to…hotel." Her words came out in short phrases as she tried to gulp in air. "Sully! Promise. Take me to…hotel." She tried to sit up, but she was still wheezing and quickly lay down again. "Are you…you okay?"

Sully, who had caught his breath, nodded and reached to lift her limp body up into his arms. "I'm okay. It's you I'm worryin' about. We'll go to the hotel, but ya gotta promise to let a doctor make sure you're alright."

As he climbed the bank, he could see Mr. Watkins, Samuel Smith, and several other people hurrying toward them. "She's gonna be fine. We just need to get her to the hotel. As he reached the top of the bank, blankets were wrapped around her body, and another was thrown over his shoulders. They were ushered into a waiting carriage, and the driver took off at a fast clip. Sully never let go of his precious burden as he tenderly brushed the wet tendrils of hair from her face and gently kissed her bruised cheek.

She didn't speak, but as the carriage stopped in front of the hotel, she reached for his hand and held it, tucking it against the side of her face.

* * *

Mr. Henry, the Front Desk Manager, looked up as a dirty and wet Mr. Sully carried the lady doctor into the lobby. He barely recognized the proper Dr. Quinn in a sodden, torn ball gown. Her hair was matted around her face, and she was wrapped in a rough woolen blanket.

Sully glanced over at the inept desk manager. "Mr. Henry. Good you're here. Dr. Quinn has fallen into the river. I need a lady's maid to accompany me upstairs right now. She will also need a hot bath prepared immediately, a tray with hot tea and soup, and a bed warmer. I assume there is a hotel doctor available. Please have him come to the suite as well."

The desk manager stood motionless from shock. "Uh…yes, sir. Mr. Sully. I'll get right on it." He turned to a waiting bellboy and started ticking off orders. "You heard the gentleman. Go get Mrs. Hawkins, the housekeeper, and have her go immediately to Dr. Quinn's suite. Have the kitchen send up a tray. Also, have someone prepare a bath and bring a bed warmer. I will contact Dr. Harrison."

As Sully raced up the stairs, Mr. Henry was still issuing orders to his well-trained staff.

* * *

Sully opened the door to the suite with one hand and carried Michaela into her bedchamber. Mrs. Hawkins came rushing through the doorway right behind him. "Sir, you go get some dry clothes on. I can handle this. The doctor's on his way, and so is a nice hot bath and some hot tea."

He sat Michaela down on the _chaise longue_ by the window, and she looked up at him as her teeth chattered against the cold. "Sully. Do as she says. I'm fine. Just cold and wet. You'll catch your death if you don't get out of those wet clothes."

He leaned over and quickly kissed her on the forehead before reluctantly turning to leave the room. As he got to the doorway, he turned back and looked at her intently before looking at Mrs. Hawkins. "If the doctor comes before I get back, I wanna talk to him. Also, make sure he looks at that bruise on her cheek and puts some salve on her wrists. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Listening to his litany of demands, Michaela finally had enough. "Sully! Will you go change clothes? I told you I'm fine. Just dirty, wet, and cold." She pointed toward the doorway and smiled. "Go!"

As he closed the door behind him, Mrs. Hawkins could hear him muttering something under his breath about bossy women. She smiled to herself because she suspected that was the way he liked them.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

He was just finishing dressing in his familiar buckskin pants and white shirt when there was a knock on his bedchamber door. Mrs. Hawkins and an unidentified man were waiting on the other side.

"Mr. Sully, this is Dr. Harrison, the hotel doctor. He just examined Dr. Quinn. You asked to speak with him."

Dr. Harrison reached out and shook hands with Sully before answering his unspoken questions. "Sir, I have examined Dr. Quinn and am pleased to report that she will be fine after a couple of day's rest. There do not seem to be any lasting effects from her terrible ordeal."

Sully looked slightly relieved but asked, "Did you treat the rope burns on her wrists, and what about the bruise on her cheek? I'm also still worried about how long she was in the river."

"No, sir. Dr. Quinn had already had Mrs. Hawkins rub salve on her wrists. I believe it was something she had in her medical bag. The bruise should fade in several days. Other than her being chilled from her unfortunate plunge in the water, there is nothing to be concerned about. However, please have the hotel contact me should she develop any unforeseen malady."

Sully thanked the doctor and the housekeeper for their assistance and ushered them out the main suite door.

He needed to see Michaela and assure himself of her recovery.

* * *

He knocked lightly on her bedchamber door and quietly cracked it open in case she was sleeping. He peeked around the door and saw her reclining in bed against several feather pillows. Looking up, she saw his worried expression and smiled as she invited him into the room.

"Sully! Please come in. There is so much I want to ask you."

"Are ya sure you're up to havin' company? I can come back later. Ya need ta rest, accordin' ta Dr. Harrison."

She motioned for him to sit down on the small tufted slipper chair next to her bed. "Please. I'm too restless to sleep. Besides, I want to thank you for once again coming to my aid."

He pulled the chair closer to the edge of the bed and sat down as he reached to clasp both of her hands. His fingers gently caressed the angry burns left from the tight restraints. "Michaela, there is no need to thank me for anything. I'm jus' thankful you're gonna be alright. Don't you know I would give my life without hesitation for yours?"

He looked straight into her tear-filled eyes and noted a rosy blush. The pinkish bloom made the bruise on her cheek even more visible, and he noticed a slight cut at the corner of her luscious mouth. He raised his hand and touched the small wound with the tip of his index finger. "Did one of those ruffians hit you? Was it Will-or whatever his real name was?"

"It's nothing really. He didn't like my answers to his questions and tried to intimidate me into telling him everything I knew about you."

"Me? What was he askin' you?"

"He wanted to know where you were born and why you were in New York. His questions didn't make sense. It was like he knew you but wasn't sure. Sully, is…was he really your brother?" She tentatively asked the question, as she did not want to cause him further hurt.

"Don't know…may never know. He said we had the same pa. If that's the truth, then I'm sure my ma never knew. If she'd known, she'd a left my pa. I don't remember him so I don't know if what Will said was true...that my pa had blue eyes. He was right about my ma though. After I was born, she got real sad and never got any better. My brother once told me she even got worse after pa died. Then he was killed, and ma jus' couldn't live no more. She jumped into the river one day and drowned herself. I was ten and saw her do it. Michaela, I couldn't save her, and I regret it to this day. But I had to save you. I've lost too many people I lo…care about. I wasn't gonna lose you, too," he finished, his voice cracking with emotion as his eyes filled with tears.

She leaned forward, placed her hand against the side of his jaw, and wiped a lone tear as it spilled from his vivid blue eyes. "You did save me, Sully, and you're there for the children and me every day. I'm just so sorry this trip to New York been so difficult for you. Having to rescue me, and having Will dredge up painful memories…oh, my heart breaks for what you have been through."

"I don't care about Will or Padric…whatever his name was. I do hate that my real brother's name has been tarnished. He surely didn't deserve that. As far as me rescuin' you, I would do it all over again without a thought."

He leaned forward, and her hand moved from his face to grasp his arm. Her other hand reached as if to draw him closer. Then, as if he could no longer prevent himself from embracing her, he rose from the chair and perched on the edge of the bed. When she made no objection, he took her willing frame into his arms and leaned in to tenderly kiss her lips. He could feel her wildly beating heart as he pressed her back against the bed pillows. She made no move to stop him and, emboldened by her acquiescence, he moved his hands around her small waist and hips and then passionately deepened the kiss. She mewled softly in the back of her throat, and the sensual whimper aroused him even further. His tongue pushed past her lips as his hands continued exploring her body. He finally wrenched his mouth from her swollen lips to trail nibbling kisses down the column of silken skin on her throat. The knuckles of one hand brushed against the rigid nipple of her firm breast as he moved to open the pearl buttons of her white lawn nightgown. Her fingers raked the muscles of his back, and he could feel her nails through the thin material of his cotton shirt.

Suddenly he jerked backwards, his breathing labored, his blue eyes still dark with desire. "Michaela! I gotta stop. We gotta stop. I'm sorry. I shouldn't…shouldn't of…please forgive me!" He turned as if to rise from the bed when she reached and clutched him by the sleeve of his shirt. "Sully! Please don't go. There's nothing to forgive. I wanted to feel our closeness as much as you did." She let go of his shirt and sagged backwards in the bed.

"Sit with me…stay with me…just until I go to sleep. I don't want to be alone."

There was no denying her anything so he moved as if to settle back in the little chair by her bed. She glanced up at him and spoke in a hesitant murmur. "Sully? Would you just hold me? Please? For a little while."

He looked into her eyes so as to ascertain for himself that she really understood the significance of what she was requesting. Seeing only innocent sincerity and hope radiating from those sparkling bi-colored eyes, he sat down on the bed and leaned against the wooden headboard. She turned and lay back in his waiting arms and then rested her head against his shoulder, tucked underneath his chin. He felt her sigh and glanced down in time to see her long eyelashes fan downwards as she drifted off in a restful sleep.

Sully cradled her warm body for hours, as he tried desperately to keep his own traitorous body under control. He didn't sleep, and his thoughts turned to the earlier conversation he'd had with Mr. Watkins. He was correct. A man could spend his whole life looking for a woman like Michaela.

Now that he'd found her, he never intended to let her go…


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Michaela slept for seven hours before awaking in Sully's arms. Although embarrassed by the impropriety, she was secretly overjoyed to have been held so lovingly by him. He made no comment other than to say he would order a tray be brought to their suite. As he was leaving her bedchamber, he turned back and lightly kissed her blushing cheek. They shared a light supper, and still feeling weary, she returned to bed and slept until the following morning.

Sully, still concerned, had periodically checked on her throughout the night. The following morning, as he drank coffee at the small table in the main salon, he read an account of the robbery in _The New-York Times. _The thieves had all been caught or killed by the Pinkerton Detectives and the stolen jewelry returned to the rightful owners. As he was finishing the article, there was a knock on the door. He went to open it and was surprised to see Mr. Watkins.

"Please come in. Michaela's still resting. But can I offer ya some coffee?"

"No thank you, Sully. I can't stay, but I wanted to discuss something with you, if you have a moment?"

Sully looked at him with a perplexed frown and then motioned toward the chair across from the small dining table. "Sure. Have a seat."

He eased himself down onto the chair and draped his cane over the curved arm. "Sully, I have a confession to make," he paused and sighed. "When I met you and Dr. Quinn in Colorado Springs, I realized almost immediately that the two of you shared a strong attraction and that Dr. Quinn cared deeply for you. However, I could also see you were fighting your feelings." Sully, who had sat down opposite Watkins, started to protest. "No. Let me finish."

He took a troubled breath and continued speaking. "I cherished the friendship of both of you, but I decided you needed a little nudge or you might lose a remarkable lady. When the museum offered me the showing, I knew I had a perfect opportunity to prod you into admitting your feelings. Please forgive an old man for meddling, but I figured you wouldn't like Dr. Quinn's traveling to New York as my guest and you'd insist on accompanying her. The flowers, the note, my escorting her to the gala…they were all designed to elicit a response from you. Don't get me wrong, I care deeply for her, and if I were a younger, healthier man, then I would vie for her affections myself."

Upon hearing that last statement, Sully clenched his jaw and frowned, but Watkins continued talking without noticing the younger man's jealous reaction.

"Anyhow, I never planned on what happened at the gala, of course…her getting kidnapped and held for ransom. My intent, although possibly foolish, was for you to finally accept what you were obviously fighting…that you are in love with Dr. Quinn."

As he finished speaking, he reached into the vest pocket of his coat and pulled out a pocket-sized leather portfolio. "Sully, I have something I want you to have. I started to give it to you before I left Colorado Springs, but I didn't think you were ready…that it wouldn't have meant as much at the time. Now I know differently. I can see it in your eyes."

He pushed the folding case across the table, and Sully looked intently at it but didn't touch the small folder. Finally, as if curiosity won out, he picked it up and opened the flap. Inside, there was a miniature portrait of Michaela he immediately recognized. It was similar to the one on display at the gala. He looked back up at Watkins, and with an unreadable expression, murmured his sincere appreciation for the meaningful gift.

"Sully, I have always believed that every photograph has a heart. I wanted you to have a portrait of the heart…of your heart."

Watkins stood and started for the door. As he turned to leave, he looked back and smiled knowingly at the pensive mountain man who sat staring at the photograph. "Please tell Dr. Quinn I'm sorry I missed seeing her and I hope she has recovered fully from her ordeal."

He closed the door behind him, and still Sully didn't move. He was looking at the portrait of the woman he loved…the portrait of his heart.

* * *

An hour later, Michaela entered the main salon and saw him sitting quietly at the small table. He looked up when she entered the room and swiftly closed a small leather case and slid it under a folded newspaper.

"You missed Mr. Watkins," he said. "He came by to make sure you'd recovered."

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down in the chair recently vacated by the visiting photographer. "That was kind of him. Did he say anything else?"

"Nah. He didn't stay long. How are ya feelin'?"

"I'm fine. But, Sully, I'm ready to go home…home to Colorado. Are you?" As she asked the question, she set the china cup down and circled the cup's rim with her index finger.

"Yeah. I think home sounds good. We can catch a train to St. Louis tomorrow. But if you feel like it today, we can have the hotel pack us a picnic lunch and go to Central Park. After that, we could visit that medical library you were goin' on about…the one you told Colleen you'd like to go see."

"That sounds delightful!" She looked up and smiled across the table at him, pleased he had even remembered her wish to visit The New York Academy of Medicine Library.

They spent the day together, exploring some of the city's more interesting sites. They picnicked in the park, visited the medical library, and even spent an uneventful hour looking at Mr. Watkins' photographs in the museum. That evening, they dined in their suite and then adjourned to the salon's velvet sofa. Finally, sleep claimed Michaela as she sat nestled in the security of Sully's loving embrace.

As the evening slowly turned to night, he continued to hold her and gently touch the warmth of her silken skin. His thoughts turned back to Watkins' visit earlier in the day. Even though he had given him a portrait of the heart…of his heart, he had so much more…

He had the woman he loved with all his heart…and she was in his arms…

**THE END**


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